The Trial
by MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: Hermione faces death, and all the things she's left undone. Salem Witch Trials!AU. T for non-graphic character death.


**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for the QLFC Round 9, and Hogwarts. :) PLEASE NOTE: This is a Salem Witch Trials!AU. I'm no expert, and though I researched pretty thoroughly, some historical facts may be wrong. I apologize if that's the case. Also, the phrase at the bottom was gotten off of glosbe . com, so credit goes to them.**

 **Chaser 2: Write about Hermione Granger**

 **Optional Prompts:**

 **(foreign word) hostina (feast)**

 **(word) harm**

 **(dialogue) "It's so good to be home."**

 **Hogwarts:**

 **Biosciences Task 2: Write about someone with insomnia.**

 **Word Count: 1811**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

 **WARNINGS: Language, character death (not in detail)**

 **Enjoy!**

Hermione Granger stared at the rope dangling in front of her face and tried not to let her fear show on her face. The sun was beginning to set, slowly staining the sky different hues of orange and pink. It was the last sunset she'd ever see.

Lucius Malfoy was speaking, listing all of the crimes she'd been accused and found guilty of. Hermione's brown eyes glistened with tears she was too proud to shed. She was not a witch; she was a scholar. But a woman with an education in today's world must be consorting with the devil.

She didn't fear death. She just regretted all the things she'd never done. All the dreams left unfulfilled, all the memories left unmade—she'd never be able to complete her life.

But there had been a time when she had thought she would.

* * *

" _Oh, Ronald," she laughed. "It's so beautiful here."_

 _Ron Weasley, her partner, grinned at her. His face, freckled due to all the time he spent outside, was beaming. "I'm glad you like it."_

 _She really did. The house was small, with a little garden out back. The neighbors weren't close, and they'd have to walk quite a distance to get any supplies, but it was perfect. Hermione could easily imagine building a life here with him._

 _She turned back to her finacé and thought back on all the hardships they'd faced the past year. Ron didn't come from a well-off family, and the two had been subjected to a lot of disapproving and sometimes downright nasty comments. Add in the fact that Hermione was fighting her way through the education system, and they had quickly become some of the most hated people in town. But Ron had never cared about her unconventional love for studies; he always joked that she was better in school than he was, so why should she have to stop learning while he continued? Ron didn't see gender; he saw ability. It was one of the many reasons why Hermione loved him, even if he could be a bit obtuse at times. Still, he was loyal, and though he had a quick temper, he was never afraid to stand up for himself—or for her._

 _She grabbed one of his freckled hands. "It's so good to be home."_

 _And they were; after struggling for so long in a disapproving world, they were finally in a place where they could be themselves; where nobody cared if they were wed._

 _Ron grinned happily, his ears glowing red at her touch, just like always. "It is," he agreed._

* * *

Looking out at the crowd gathered in front of her, Hermione could no longer see the blissful peace she had when she had first settled here with Ron. All she could see now was hatred.

Her nails dug into her palms. Her wrists were bound behind her back, but she stood as tall as she was able to. She was not ashamed of her life. She refused to give others that impression. All she really wanted to do was crumble, but she'd been strong too long to appear weak now. She was determined to make a lasting impression; when the world thought of Hermione Granger, they wouldn't think of a hunch-backed, quaking young girl. They would think of a proud woman who hadn't blinked when the noose was slipped around her throat. They wouldn't know she was afraid.

She took a deep breath and thought of Ron. If he were here, his mouth would be set in a thin line—plainly terrified, but too stubborn to show it. Even if she could always tell what he was feeling. He never could hide anything from her. He'd grab her hand and rub his thumb gently over her knuckles. He wouldn't just give her strength—he'd ask for some in return. That even exchange, the knowledge that he needed her just as much as she needed him, was what had kept her going for so long.

Thinking of Ron was painful. He'd been gone for a long time; murdered by the same people who stood waiting to take her life. Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes glinted coldly as he glanced back to look at her, and she was forcibly reminded of his son, Draco Malfoy. Rage bubbled up within her. All of this was Malfoy's fault. Had he been able to hate Ron in silence, then he would still be here. She wouldn't be staring death in the face.

But the Malfoys didn't play fair.

* * *

 _Hermione sat huddled by the fireplace of her home, wide-awake. Physically, she was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't quiet long enough for her to get some rest; she was too worried about Ron._

 _He worked alongside their friend Harry Potter as a law enforcer, and though Hermione loved Harry to death, he was successful enough in what he did that he made quite a few enemies. It didn't help that Ron was always in the thick of things._

 _He had been due back from his mission three days ago. She knew, logically, that there were an infinite number of reasons that he'd be delayed, but a terrible dread that had settled inside her told her that her fears may very well be confirmed. She shuddered as she stared out the window. The sky was pitch-black, and even the stars seemed to have been swallowed by the darkness. Hermione wasn't superstitious, but even she couldn't deny the fact that this didn't seem to be a good sign._

 _Two more days passed without a word. Any sleep she could catch was fleeting, and she was beginning to grow used to the lead weight that had settled over her heart. One night, when the sky was a deep indigo and only a few sad stars dotted the sky around the frowning moon, there was knock on the door. Hermione practically flew to the door, wrenching it open. To her disappointment and slight horror, it wasn't Ron on the other side; it was Draco Malfoy, his smile oily._

 _The world came crashing down when he told her that, unfortunately, Ron hadn't made it out of the ambush. Apparently, the outlaws Harry and her husband had been chasing had been ready for them, and had been horribly outnumbered. Harry survived but was severely injured; Hermione's heart ached for her friend, but her focus was on the little box in Malfoy's hands that held what was left of Ron's belongings. She received a letter from Harry the next day, and though it was barely legible, he made it quite clear that he suspected the Malfoys of giving away their positions in return for their safety._

 _Since that day, Hermione had dedicated herself to uncovering the truth about the Malfoys—the town did not deserve to have any family that was so self-serving in power. If they had harmed her family in such a way, there was no telling what they would do to the rest of the people here._

* * *

The very people she'd been trying to protect were jeering up at her, shouting slurs and regarding her with a fear that she did not deserve. She was led to the stool, and was amazed when her knees did not give out. Now the rope was directly in front of her nose.

Determination bubbled up within her. She couldn't just walk silently to her death; even if they didn't listen, the people deserved to know the truth about the man they'd elected to be their voice in government.

She looked defiantly out at the crowd, her curly brown hair, dirty and matted from her time in captivity, blowing behind her. Her voice, rough from disuse, interrupted Lucius Malfoy's monologue.

"He's lying!" she shouted. Lucius' grey eyes snapped over to her threateningly, but she paid him no mind. "He and his son—they aided in the murder of my fiancé; they aren't who they say they are—"

Lucius laughed, turning back to the townspeople. "The lies of a witch."

* * *

 _Hermione sat with her head in her hands, trying to slow her breathing. She didn't sleep much anymore, but she still had waking dreams—she refused to call them hallucinations. If there was one thing she'd always been sure of, it was the soundness of her mind; she was too stubborn to admit that the dreams had more to do with fatigue than mental instability._

 _This dream hadn't been so much a nightmare as a memory. Gentle hands caressing her face, mumbled declarations of love, a heart pounding against her chest. When she came to, it felt as though her heart had been ripped out once again._

 _The Malfoys were out there, and with Harry in the hospital, she was the only one who could expose them._

 _She ran a hand over her face, shuddering. She had to get back to work. The sooner Malfoy's treachery was revealed, the sooner—what? Ron would be avenged? He wouldn't want that. So why was this so important to her? If Ron was gone, if he couldn't come back, why did she want to ruin the Malfoys so badly?_

 _The answer came soon enough. She wanted everyone to know the truth; that way, no one would ever be in her position again. She wanted to protect the others from that pain._

 _Her hand reached for her quill, her slight fingers trembling. Her head snapped up when she heard a knock at the door. She got up to answer, and found the last person she wanted to see on the other side._

 _That night, she was forced to leave her home behind._

* * *

The noose was slipped around her throat. Despair washed over her; they hadn't listened. Not a single person. She had tried; it hadn't been enough. They drowned out all her protests, instead choosing to listen to Lucius' lies. Her eyes, heavy with fatigue and depression, found the last rays of sunlight. Her time was drawing to a close. It was time for a new day to dawn—whether it was a brighter day or not depended on the people before her. She hoped someone had heard her cries and listened; she hoped that the seed of doubt had been planted. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, accepting the fact that for now, she could only step away; that she couldn't do more.

A strange peace settled over her. She recalled a phrase she had read once, one that Ron had always liked to hear: _Bude ďalšia hostina, skoro_ _._ There will be another feast soon.

It wasn't talking about a literal feast in Hermione's eyes—the feast would be the fullness of her heart, when all were united at one table. It was coming for her soon. She'd sit beside Ron at last, and could finally achieve total contentment.

She closed her eyes as the stool was kicked out from under her.

She could sleep again at last.


End file.
